Why is Monsieur Teste impossible? That question is the soul of him. It turns you into Monsieur Teste. For he is no other than the very demon of possibility. He is intoxicated by the anxiety of his capacity. He observes and directs himself but never agrees to be directed. He knows only two values, two categories, those of consciousness reduced to its acts: the possible and the impossible. In this strange head, where philosophy has little credit, where language is always on trial there is scarcely a thought that is not accompanied by the feeling that it is tentative; there exists hardly more than the anticipation and execution of definite operations.